somewhere near the end of time | part two
title: somewhere near the end of time; part two (part one is here)
pairing: steven gerrard/xabi alonso
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: not true (apart from the things that are)
summary: xabi wishes he was enough to make one person want to stay. stevie and xabi over the course of liverpool fc’s 05-06 season
They’re already in Japan when Rafa finds out that his father has died. It’s the night before they play Deportivo Saprissa and Rafa smiles at him shortly on the way back from the hotel bathroom. Xabi’s brow wrinkles in confusion because Rafa offers curt nods from time to time but he hardly ever smiles. He only hears about it later when he’s sitting across from Stevie at dinner.
Xabi’s eyes widen, “He’s not going back to Madrid?”
Stevie looks pale and he’s pushing his pasta around on his plate instead of eating it, “He said he’s got a job to do. Pako told him he could take over for a while so Rafa could go to the funeral but.” Stevie shrugs and Xabi’s gaze lingers on his throat as he swallows heavily
They lose to Sao Paulo in the final that weekend and it’s like there’s led in Xabi’s limbs. There’s a dark cloud hanging over the rest of the squad and Xabi isn’t sure it’s entirely to do with them losing. Stevie isn’t in the hotel room they’re sharing when Xabi finally returns so he goes to the bathroom and takes a long hot shower. He can feel a week of grime layering his skin and it’s so hot outside even with the balcony door’s open and a breeze wafting in. When he comes out in just a towel Stevie is sitting on the edge of his bed looking to the night.
“Stevie, are you ok?” he asks stupidly, not sure of what else to say
Xabi comes to sit beside him on the bed and Stevie’s mouth twists darkly. “We lost.”
There’s some tried cliché on Xabi’s lips - something like you can’t win ‘em all but he knows that would be of no comfort. He lays a soothing hand on Stevie’s shoulder instead and is almost surprised when he doesn’t move away.
Stevie clears his throat gruffly and blinks thrice like he’s trying to get something out of his eye. “This was all for nothing. Rafa could have been in Spain but he stayed and we let him down today.”
Xabi is shocked. “Stevie, Rafa chose to stay. You think even if we’d won today it would have made up for the fact that his father is gone? No trophy or cup would have been enough.”
“No, I was supposed to make it better. I was supposed to make it ok.” And Xabi looks away when he hears the break in Stevie’s voice. “Rafa stayed for a reason and in the end it wasn’t worth it. That’s my fault.”
“Stevie,” Xabi breathes - almost frightened by the vulnerability set before him like some open wound. Stevie’s usually blue eyes have turned a startling grey and Xabi feels a pull so strong he’d swear it was magnetic. He leans forward and grazes his lips against Stevie’s - the barest hint of contact, like two moths blindly bumping into each other in the lamplight.
Stevie pulls away immediately like he’s caught his finger on a burning stove. “What are you doing?” he asks and his voice sounds raw and unfamiliar
Xabi swallows thickly and begins to shift away on the bed. “I’m sor-”
But he’s cut off by the press of lips against his own. Stevie kisses him with his eyes open - like a test. They’re so close Xabi can feel the brush of Stevie’s eyelashes against his skin and he can’t stop the sigh that escapes him. He can feel his lids getting heavier and heavier like he’s under a drug and they close involuntarily as he moves closer, fisting a hand in Stevie’s sweat-soaked shirt. They kiss till it becomes familiar - the taste of Stevie, his tongue in his mouth, the scrape of his teeth like pain but not quite. Stevie pulls away panting and Xabi automatically reaches to place a palm at the side of his face. He leans into the touch for a second before jerking back, avoiding Xabi’s gaze.
Stevie stands up so quickly he almost trips over himself. “I’m uhm. I’m going to use the bathroom. You should sleep.” He continues to stare fixedly at the ground. “Our flight tomorrow is early and you don’t want to be. Uhm.”
Xabi looks up and he can still taste him. He nods and motions with his hand. “You should go to the bathroom.”
He nods jerkily and leaves; movements tense and robotic. Xabi sighs; feels frustrated. He contemplates waiting for Stevie to come out so that they can talk. And say what? The moon hangs outside expectantly and Xabi decides that perhaps all this is enough for one night. He changes into a pair of boxer shorts and lies down above the covers - welcoming the blasts of fresh air from the open window more than anything. He closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep but they open almost immediately when he hears the squeak of the bathroom door.
Stevie is towel-drying his hair but he stops when he sees Xabi staring at him. “You should sleep,” he says kindly
“I can’t.” Xabi curses how hoarse he sounds as he sits up against his pillows
Stevie twists his towel beneath his hands and shifts nervously. “These things happen don’t they?”
“They do?” Xabi asks incredulously - sure that in all his years of travelling with the team - from Eibar to La Seleccion - this has never happened before.
Stevie shrugs and moves toward the light switch. “Yeah, sometimes. But it doesn’t mean anything does it?” Xabi bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. “Tonight was…” He searches for the word and makes a defeated noise when he comes up empty. “The way I acted wasn’t- I’m sorry.” He looks at Xabi now, straight in the eye with all the composure Xabi has seen in photographs where he’s posing with Dalglish or even Maldini. “I’m sorry, Xabi. It won’t happen again.”
Xabi’s on the verge of saying something when the lights are turned off and the room is thrown into darkness. The last thing he hears is the shuffled movement of sheets and a soft ‘good night’
**
They play Newcastle the day after Christmas. He meets Michael who is very quiet. Xabi thinks there is a part of him here in Liverpool, in Anfield, with Stevie and Carra who he smiles and jokes easily with. Xabi can’t stop watching them.
Michael comes into the dressing room just before the match is about to start. Xabi watches Stevie clap him on the back - a warm smile on his face that is all familiarity and shared memory. “Come for drinks with us after, yeah?” he hears Stevie ask and Xabi looks down at his boots to hide the frown on his face. It’s difficult sometimes knowing that there is so much of Stevie’s life before him that he will never be privy to. It’s more of a sadness than it is jealousy but Xabi is good at hiding both.
They’re 2-0 when Bowyer comes sliding into him and the sharp immediacy of pain leaves him winded for a few seconds - clutching his leg and lying on the cold grass. When the throbbing subsides eventually he can hear yelling and he opens his eyes to a melee of red and black cacophony. From his position on the ground it looks like Stevie has his hands around someone’s neck and Xabi wants to tell him to stop; stop it’s ok. His heart is in his throat.
The referee blows his whistle. Once, then twice and it pierces through the afternoon mist and the madness on the pitch. He brandishes a red card and Bowyer is sent off. Stevie comes to him - face dark and menacing; he’s breathing heavily. He puts a hand on the back of Xabi’s neck and helps him up. “Alright?”
Xabi doesn’t think he can speak so he nods and then winces when he steps on his left foot. Stevie’s face softens at once. “You can run ok? Sure?”
“I’m fine.” Stevie pats him reassuringly on the back and Xabi exhales shakily as he jogs away.
Later he sits in the dressing room with an ice pack to his shin - basking in their win, laughing as Pepe teases Crouch about his goal which was only down to Shay Given’s mistake. He’s grinning and his leg is numb when Stevie comes to sit next to him.
“What happened out there? Did you strangle Alan Shearer?” he asks in awe
Stevie chuckles dryly and runs a hand through his wet hair. “I got so mad. Bowyer hurt you and just-”
Xabi swallows and the sudden, not easily forgotten, memory of Japan hits him upside the head. He can feel the rosy heat spreading up his cheeks and it gets worse when he notices that Stevie is staring at his mouth. His tongue goes dry and he wants so desperately to say something.
But then someone is at the door of the room clearing their throat. “Drinks, lads?” Michael asks, now freshly changed and looking like someone out of a GAP advert. “You will have to buy though since, you know.” He shrugs like he’s embarrassed but Carra laughs next to him.
Xabi can see the humour glittering in Stevie’s eyes and the grin splitting his face. “You’ll come join us later, yeah?” He reaches for his things and hikes his bag up on his shoulder, waving at Xabi and the rest of the boys before greeting Michael with an exaggerated punch to the arm.
Xabi wonders why the past wont stay where it’s meant to.
**
Xabi thinks it’s important to never be sure of anything. Confidence is vital but he can’t stand the kind of self-importance that suggests a game has been won even before it’s started. Even when the game is a 3rd round FA Cup tie against Luton Town. So he’s annoyed when Stevie’s the first to score and he walks away from the goal with faked nonchalance, his shoulders slouched with indifference. There’s a lethargic air to their play - akin to arrogance and before they know it Djib has missed a penalty and they’re 3-1 down. He can feel Rafa’s anger coming off in waves from the touchline. The man is incensed.
He thinks of Stevie in Istanbul - all fire and want. He can’t be like that, he doesn’t know how. But maybe he doesn’t have to be. After Pongolle scores he thinks one more just one more and out of nothing the ball leaves his foot and dips in to the mouth of goal amidst shocked cries. He’s enveloped by everyone but all he sees for a second is Stevie’s face before him and then the feel of his nose against his neck, his lips as he mouths the words there - “where the fuck did that come from?” - and Xabi grins. He wants to pull back and look at him properly, at the pride he can feel in the way Stevie clutches him possessively.
But the game moves too quickly and they break apart. “Let’s get another, lads!” he hears Carra yell.
They’re locked for a win when Xabi realises how far forward the Luton goal-keeper is. He looks toward the opposing goal and it lies naked and inviting before him - if he weren’t so determined to do this he’d take a moment to laugh. Stevie is racing ahead of him and he is dimly aware of his yelling but he doesn’t pay attention - he goes for goal.
“What the fuck?” Stevie cries at him
In In In In In - Xabi prays and he whoops with delight as the keeper rushes back too late and the ball reluctantly rolls in. He grins as Stevie’s thunderous expression clears and is replaced with disbelief - he starts applauding his audacity. Xabi contemplates sticking his tongue out - nah-nah style - but opts for a hug instead.
“It had to go on in sometime,” Stevie whispers, breath tickling Xabi’s ear and he laughs
“Jealous,” he mocks softly and something like heat flares in Stevie’s eyes and then he’s being pulled away by Riise and Finns. He did it. They’ve won.
They’re heading down the tunnel and Rafa is shaking his head at them as they go past - “You are all crazy!” he declares, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Xabi wants to take a moment to reflect on his manager’s sudden outburst but a hand grips his wrist and tugs him forward. He’s on the verge of crying out when he’s thrust into a storage room - nearly tripping over a steel bucket and fallen mop. The door slams behind him and he’s suddenly turned and pressed against it.
“Stevie?” he asks in confusion when his eyes adjust to the dark and he can smell the other man - sweat and hunger, all primal. But the words are barely out when Stevie captures Xabi’s lips with his own. Xabi’s so startled he forgets to respond, eyes flying wide open in shock.
Stevie moves back carefully and the hesitation is clear in his eyes. “What are you- I mean- I- What?” Xabi manages to stutter out
“Kissing you.” Stevie presses a kiss to the left of Xabi’s mouth and then to the right - they’re feather-light and leave Xabi’s chest aching
“I know but-” he begins shakily but stops when Stevie leans in again, this time kissing him deeply so that when he pulls away minutes later Xabi is dizzy with want and can barely see straight.
“Just. You were amazing out there, ok?” Stevie smiles jokingly. “Think of it as a reward. These things… they happen.” But Xabi is done thinking. He grasps Stevie’s face and tilts his head to deepen the kiss - their mouths moving hungrily till they’re both swamped by sensation and aching with a need that leaves their bones feeling like liquid.
Feeling brave, Xabi rolls his hips against Stevie’s, smirking when the other man moans into his mouth. Stevie breaks the kiss and inhales air like he’s drowning. “Fuck,” he says when Xabi feels his hard length pressed against his own. He kisses Xabi again but it’s open-mouthed and messy. Xabi doesn’t know what to do with hands - he wants to touch and taste and kiss all at once - he runs them over Stevie hurriedly, the heated flesh beneath his shirt.
Stevie pushes Xabi further into the wall, moulds their bodies even closer together and Xabi cries out at the feeling - not caring that anyone could be outside the door, anyone could be listening. Xabi moves a thigh between Stevie’s and grinds slowly, gripping at his hips and gasping at the electricity of the friction. He wants to live and breathe in this moment always and for a second he feels the sting of sadness when he realises that it will end. But then his mind goes blank when Stevie begins rutting frantically against his leg - cocks sliding against each other - and now Xabi can barely breathe, the heat in the room is stifling. He’s mindless with want and Stevie is lapping at his neck - dragging his tongue along the length of it, hands barely grazing the side of his body. “Please,” Xabi whispers into Stevie’s mouth and he can taste his words on the other man’s tongue. Stevie slams Xabi’s body against the wall once more and drags his body against him slowly. He comes with a guttural groan, hips pumping uncontrollably, scrambling for purchase at Stevie’s shoulders while trying to get as close to him as possible. Stevie is just behind him - eyes so dark they’re nearly black - he buries his face in Xabi’s neck and bites at the skin there to stifle the sounds of his orgasm as it washes over him in wave after powerful wave.
Xabi draws in a ragged breath and then shivers when he feels Stevie chuckle against him. He doesn’t do things like this. He doesn’t come after winning football matches, in dingy storage rooms. He bites his lip at the sticky feeling between his legs. Stevie pulls away and eyes his crotch appreciatively. “Don’t worry; we’ll get to change and shower soon.”
“Do you do this often?” Xabi can’t stop the question and wishes he’d kept his mouth shut as soon as he hears it leave his lips.
Stevie raises an eyebrow. “Not really, no” he says slowly
Xabi looks away, embarrassed - though it’s difficult to see why as he’s already standing in front of his captain with come in his shorts. “It’s just that you said before that these things happen so I wondered that maybe…” he leaves the sentence hanging in midair
“You wondered if maybe these things had happened with me? Before?” Stevie smiles at him gently and reaches for his hand. “This is good ok? Let’s not make it difficult.” He kisses him chastely.
Xabi struggles not to frown. How is this not already difficult? How does this make any sense? There are millions of questions bubbling to the surface but with Stevie smiling at him like that he can only bother to shelve them away for later.
“You think too much,” Stevie says and Xabi wants to suggest that he doesn’t think enough but the storage room door is already being pushed open - the intrusive sunlight like a reminder that what they did should not have happened.
“Ready to go out?” Stevie asks but he doesn’t look back to hear Xabi’s response
Xabi sighs and worries about the smell of sex that lingers in the air between them, worries of how he will stop himself from touching Stevie when they’re just a few feet apart. “Lead the way.”
**
They fuck during away games when Rafa makes them room together. He’s started up a rota policy to allow more integration so you never get to pick whom you share with and you never get the same person twice in a row. It’s annoying because Xabi thinks if he were addicted to a drug it would feel something like this. He wants more and more and he wants it all the time. He thinks about it at night in bed and on the training ground and in the showers after a match. It doesn’t mean anything, he knows. Stevie reminds him often enough that what they share is purely physical - like a release. But sometimes when Stevie’s inside him, there’s a pain so acute somewhere near his heart and Xabi swears, he’s so sure, that this is about more than the simple slide of skin against skin.
They make love after Benfica knock them out of the Champions League - or at least that’s what it feels like. Stevie moves over Xabi like water - surrounding and caressing him with such tenderness that builds and builds the pressure in his chest - sure he’ll burst from how complete he feels when they are like this. Stevie presses kisses to the bones of Xabi’s cheek, pushes away the hair that falls into his eyes and smiles. It’s so wonderful Xabi thinks he might do something stupid like cry so he reaches for Stevie and kisses him hard and hopes he can feel in this one kiss all the things that they will never ever say to each other.
“Next year,” Stevie tells him afterwards when they’re lying spent
And Xabi nods resolutely, pressing his lips to Stevie’s chest. “Next year,” he agrees.
**
It’s the second Merseyside derby of the season and Xabi watches warily as Stevie gets sent off. Xabi has learnt that Stevie is all misplaced passion and no head at times like this. He ignites before kick off and then flies into tackles, elbows Evertonians and stupidly kicks the ball away like doing so will prove a point. There’s more than two thirds of the game left to play and Stevie is trudging off the pitch - he looks like he’s struggling not to kick at something.
They win it anyway.
When they go back to the dressing room Stevie is waiting for them with an apology and a ‘congratulations’ - (he’d been suspiciously absent during half time). Stevie’s smiling while the others get dressed but Xabi can tell that it’s forced, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes which are more distant than usual. He drags Stevie into an empty stall away from the rest of the team - now in full flow with a rendition of Liverpool are magic. Everton are tragic - and closes the door behind them.
“It’s just a red card. I mean, they happen isn’t it. We still won no?” he’s so earnest to get Stevie smiling
Stevie moves away slightly and puts obvious distance between the two of them, dragging his hands over his face. “The point is. I’m a fucking reckless idiot.”
Xabi rolls his eyes and Stevie shifts impulsively, kisses him hard and fast. The breath goes ‘whoosh’ out of him and the only thing he can taste is Stevie who bites at his lower lip, drawing blood. All Xabi does is moan in response - pliant beneath Stevie’s savaging mouth.
“That,” Stevie says while breathing harshly, “is me. You were brilliant out there. The entire time, I couldn’t stop watching you. The way you were so calm and so- so sure. It’s why we won today.”
Xabi smiles sheepishly and leans into kiss Stevie gently. “Maybe, but also sometimes it’s important to be like you too. Someone needs to make the crazy runs, to, you know, lunge for the ball.” Xabi ghosts his lips against Stevie’s - they’re still just inches apart. “I like watching you too, you know.”
“God, Xabi” Stevie whispers almost desperately and presses their foreheads together
“But no more red cards,” Xabi states firmly and there’s a fluttering in his chest when Stevie laughs in response.
**
Xabi’s leg is going to give way. He can feel it as though there is a disc that is slowly slipping from his knee and the pain has his passing all off. He’s under-hitting and mis-hitting and he’s so frustrated he can almost taste the tears welling at the back of his eyes. He waves his arms in the air - a signal of defeat and he tries not to meet anyone’s gaze, especially not Stevie’s, as he limps off the pitch.
He bites the inside of his cheek hard and Rafa pats him on the back. “It’s ok,” he tells him but Xabi knows that it’s not. He knows that they’re losing and now all he can do is sit on the bench and watch.
Xabi’s overcome the bitter wave of disappointment that comes with a loss and is already on the way to resignation when Stevie scores after the 90th minute. The entire bench is up on it’s feet in shock. Xabi feels weirdly calm instead - like he’d known this would happen; he expected it even.
After they penalties have been won and they’ve been presented with the cup and their medals (What is this shit? Djib had remarked in confusion), Xabi sits next to Stevie in a corner of the dressing room - a significantly large-sized bottle of champagne lies open between them.
“I think now, I think I am tired,” Xabi babbles
“You’re telling me. I can barely feel my legs.” Stevie stretches them out in front of him and Xabi places a hand on his thigh. “We’ve still got a World Cup to play, don’t forget.”
Xabi has been putting off thinking of Stevie in a different country. He misses Spain. He always misses Spain. But now he thinks he’ll miss Stevie more. “What if we have to play against each other?”
Stevie shrugs nonchalantly, “Then England will win.”
Xabi elbows him in the ribs but he’s grinning. “Very sure of yourself, I see.”
“Oh only the best from us lions,” Stevie proclaims with faked authority and Xabi sniggers before sipping at the champagne. “This is good, this.”
“What?”
“You and me,” Stevie says easily but without looking at Xabi
Xabi ponders Stevie’s words and thinks about whether they make him happy. Well, he’s happy knowing that Stevie is at least. “It was unexpected.”
Stevie lets out a laugh like a bark, “Yeah.” He turns to Xabi and grins. It’s mischievous and makes him look like a little boy with mussed hair and wine-stained lips. Xabi kisses him then - a gentle bump of lips and then he’s laughing into Stevie’s mouth and everything is here and it has all come down to this tiny, infallible piece of time. And he laughs harder as Stevie kisses him again because he knows: it’s just the beginning
pairing: steven gerrard/xabi alonso
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: not true (apart from the things that are)
summary: xabi wishes he was enough to make one person want to stay. stevie and xabi over the course of liverpool fc’s 05-06 season
They’re already in Japan when Rafa finds out that his father has died. It’s the night before they play Deportivo Saprissa and Rafa smiles at him shortly on the way back from the hotel bathroom. Xabi’s brow wrinkles in confusion because Rafa offers curt nods from time to time but he hardly ever smiles. He only hears about it later when he’s sitting across from Stevie at dinner.
Xabi’s eyes widen, “He’s not going back to Madrid?”
Stevie looks pale and he’s pushing his pasta around on his plate instead of eating it, “He said he’s got a job to do. Pako told him he could take over for a while so Rafa could go to the funeral but.” Stevie shrugs and Xabi’s gaze lingers on his throat as he swallows heavily
They lose to Sao Paulo in the final that weekend and it’s like there’s led in Xabi’s limbs. There’s a dark cloud hanging over the rest of the squad and Xabi isn’t sure it’s entirely to do with them losing. Stevie isn’t in the hotel room they’re sharing when Xabi finally returns so he goes to the bathroom and takes a long hot shower. He can feel a week of grime layering his skin and it’s so hot outside even with the balcony door’s open and a breeze wafting in. When he comes out in just a towel Stevie is sitting on the edge of his bed looking to the night.
“Stevie, are you ok?” he asks stupidly, not sure of what else to say
Xabi comes to sit beside him on the bed and Stevie’s mouth twists darkly. “We lost.”
There’s some tried cliché on Xabi’s lips - something like you can’t win ‘em all but he knows that would be of no comfort. He lays a soothing hand on Stevie’s shoulder instead and is almost surprised when he doesn’t move away.
Stevie clears his throat gruffly and blinks thrice like he’s trying to get something out of his eye. “This was all for nothing. Rafa could have been in Spain but he stayed and we let him down today.”
Xabi is shocked. “Stevie, Rafa chose to stay. You think even if we’d won today it would have made up for the fact that his father is gone? No trophy or cup would have been enough.”
“No, I was supposed to make it better. I was supposed to make it ok.” And Xabi looks away when he hears the break in Stevie’s voice. “Rafa stayed for a reason and in the end it wasn’t worth it. That’s my fault.”
“Stevie,” Xabi breathes - almost frightened by the vulnerability set before him like some open wound. Stevie’s usually blue eyes have turned a startling grey and Xabi feels a pull so strong he’d swear it was magnetic. He leans forward and grazes his lips against Stevie’s - the barest hint of contact, like two moths blindly bumping into each other in the lamplight.
Stevie pulls away immediately like he’s caught his finger on a burning stove. “What are you doing?” he asks and his voice sounds raw and unfamiliar
Xabi swallows thickly and begins to shift away on the bed. “I’m sor-”
But he’s cut off by the press of lips against his own. Stevie kisses him with his eyes open - like a test. They’re so close Xabi can feel the brush of Stevie’s eyelashes against his skin and he can’t stop the sigh that escapes him. He can feel his lids getting heavier and heavier like he’s under a drug and they close involuntarily as he moves closer, fisting a hand in Stevie’s sweat-soaked shirt. They kiss till it becomes familiar - the taste of Stevie, his tongue in his mouth, the scrape of his teeth like pain but not quite. Stevie pulls away panting and Xabi automatically reaches to place a palm at the side of his face. He leans into the touch for a second before jerking back, avoiding Xabi’s gaze.
Stevie stands up so quickly he almost trips over himself. “I’m uhm. I’m going to use the bathroom. You should sleep.” He continues to stare fixedly at the ground. “Our flight tomorrow is early and you don’t want to be. Uhm.”
Xabi looks up and he can still taste him. He nods and motions with his hand. “You should go to the bathroom.”
He nods jerkily and leaves; movements tense and robotic. Xabi sighs; feels frustrated. He contemplates waiting for Stevie to come out so that they can talk. And say what? The moon hangs outside expectantly and Xabi decides that perhaps all this is enough for one night. He changes into a pair of boxer shorts and lies down above the covers - welcoming the blasts of fresh air from the open window more than anything. He closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep but they open almost immediately when he hears the squeak of the bathroom door.
Stevie is towel-drying his hair but he stops when he sees Xabi staring at him. “You should sleep,” he says kindly
“I can’t.” Xabi curses how hoarse he sounds as he sits up against his pillows
Stevie twists his towel beneath his hands and shifts nervously. “These things happen don’t they?”
“They do?” Xabi asks incredulously - sure that in all his years of travelling with the team - from Eibar to La Seleccion - this has never happened before.
Stevie shrugs and moves toward the light switch. “Yeah, sometimes. But it doesn’t mean anything does it?” Xabi bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. “Tonight was…” He searches for the word and makes a defeated noise when he comes up empty. “The way I acted wasn’t- I’m sorry.” He looks at Xabi now, straight in the eye with all the composure Xabi has seen in photographs where he’s posing with Dalglish or even Maldini. “I’m sorry, Xabi. It won’t happen again.”
Xabi’s on the verge of saying something when the lights are turned off and the room is thrown into darkness. The last thing he hears is the shuffled movement of sheets and a soft ‘good night’
**
They play Newcastle the day after Christmas. He meets Michael who is very quiet. Xabi thinks there is a part of him here in Liverpool, in Anfield, with Stevie and Carra who he smiles and jokes easily with. Xabi can’t stop watching them.
Michael comes into the dressing room just before the match is about to start. Xabi watches Stevie clap him on the back - a warm smile on his face that is all familiarity and shared memory. “Come for drinks with us after, yeah?” he hears Stevie ask and Xabi looks down at his boots to hide the frown on his face. It’s difficult sometimes knowing that there is so much of Stevie’s life before him that he will never be privy to. It’s more of a sadness than it is jealousy but Xabi is good at hiding both.
They’re 2-0 when Bowyer comes sliding into him and the sharp immediacy of pain leaves him winded for a few seconds - clutching his leg and lying on the cold grass. When the throbbing subsides eventually he can hear yelling and he opens his eyes to a melee of red and black cacophony. From his position on the ground it looks like Stevie has his hands around someone’s neck and Xabi wants to tell him to stop; stop it’s ok. His heart is in his throat.
The referee blows his whistle. Once, then twice and it pierces through the afternoon mist and the madness on the pitch. He brandishes a red card and Bowyer is sent off. Stevie comes to him - face dark and menacing; he’s breathing heavily. He puts a hand on the back of Xabi’s neck and helps him up. “Alright?”
Xabi doesn’t think he can speak so he nods and then winces when he steps on his left foot. Stevie’s face softens at once. “You can run ok? Sure?”
“I’m fine.” Stevie pats him reassuringly on the back and Xabi exhales shakily as he jogs away.
Later he sits in the dressing room with an ice pack to his shin - basking in their win, laughing as Pepe teases Crouch about his goal which was only down to Shay Given’s mistake. He’s grinning and his leg is numb when Stevie comes to sit next to him.
“What happened out there? Did you strangle Alan Shearer?” he asks in awe
Stevie chuckles dryly and runs a hand through his wet hair. “I got so mad. Bowyer hurt you and just-”
Xabi swallows and the sudden, not easily forgotten, memory of Japan hits him upside the head. He can feel the rosy heat spreading up his cheeks and it gets worse when he notices that Stevie is staring at his mouth. His tongue goes dry and he wants so desperately to say something.
But then someone is at the door of the room clearing their throat. “Drinks, lads?” Michael asks, now freshly changed and looking like someone out of a GAP advert. “You will have to buy though since, you know.” He shrugs like he’s embarrassed but Carra laughs next to him.
Xabi can see the humour glittering in Stevie’s eyes and the grin splitting his face. “You’ll come join us later, yeah?” He reaches for his things and hikes his bag up on his shoulder, waving at Xabi and the rest of the boys before greeting Michael with an exaggerated punch to the arm.
Xabi wonders why the past wont stay where it’s meant to.
**
Xabi thinks it’s important to never be sure of anything. Confidence is vital but he can’t stand the kind of self-importance that suggests a game has been won even before it’s started. Even when the game is a 3rd round FA Cup tie against Luton Town. So he’s annoyed when Stevie’s the first to score and he walks away from the goal with faked nonchalance, his shoulders slouched with indifference. There’s a lethargic air to their play - akin to arrogance and before they know it Djib has missed a penalty and they’re 3-1 down. He can feel Rafa’s anger coming off in waves from the touchline. The man is incensed.
He thinks of Stevie in Istanbul - all fire and want. He can’t be like that, he doesn’t know how. But maybe he doesn’t have to be. After Pongolle scores he thinks one more just one more and out of nothing the ball leaves his foot and dips in to the mouth of goal amidst shocked cries. He’s enveloped by everyone but all he sees for a second is Stevie’s face before him and then the feel of his nose against his neck, his lips as he mouths the words there - “where the fuck did that come from?” - and Xabi grins. He wants to pull back and look at him properly, at the pride he can feel in the way Stevie clutches him possessively.
But the game moves too quickly and they break apart. “Let’s get another, lads!” he hears Carra yell.
They’re locked for a win when Xabi realises how far forward the Luton goal-keeper is. He looks toward the opposing goal and it lies naked and inviting before him - if he weren’t so determined to do this he’d take a moment to laugh. Stevie is racing ahead of him and he is dimly aware of his yelling but he doesn’t pay attention - he goes for goal.
“What the fuck?” Stevie cries at him
In In In In In - Xabi prays and he whoops with delight as the keeper rushes back too late and the ball reluctantly rolls in. He grins as Stevie’s thunderous expression clears and is replaced with disbelief - he starts applauding his audacity. Xabi contemplates sticking his tongue out - nah-nah style - but opts for a hug instead.
“It had to go on in sometime,” Stevie whispers, breath tickling Xabi’s ear and he laughs
“Jealous,” he mocks softly and something like heat flares in Stevie’s eyes and then he’s being pulled away by Riise and Finns. He did it. They’ve won.
They’re heading down the tunnel and Rafa is shaking his head at them as they go past - “You are all crazy!” he declares, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Xabi wants to take a moment to reflect on his manager’s sudden outburst but a hand grips his wrist and tugs him forward. He’s on the verge of crying out when he’s thrust into a storage room - nearly tripping over a steel bucket and fallen mop. The door slams behind him and he’s suddenly turned and pressed against it.
“Stevie?” he asks in confusion when his eyes adjust to the dark and he can smell the other man - sweat and hunger, all primal. But the words are barely out when Stevie captures Xabi’s lips with his own. Xabi’s so startled he forgets to respond, eyes flying wide open in shock.
Stevie moves back carefully and the hesitation is clear in his eyes. “What are you- I mean- I- What?” Xabi manages to stutter out
“Kissing you.” Stevie presses a kiss to the left of Xabi’s mouth and then to the right - they’re feather-light and leave Xabi’s chest aching
“I know but-” he begins shakily but stops when Stevie leans in again, this time kissing him deeply so that when he pulls away minutes later Xabi is dizzy with want and can barely see straight.
“Just. You were amazing out there, ok?” Stevie smiles jokingly. “Think of it as a reward. These things… they happen.” But Xabi is done thinking. He grasps Stevie’s face and tilts his head to deepen the kiss - their mouths moving hungrily till they’re both swamped by sensation and aching with a need that leaves their bones feeling like liquid.
Feeling brave, Xabi rolls his hips against Stevie’s, smirking when the other man moans into his mouth. Stevie breaks the kiss and inhales air like he’s drowning. “Fuck,” he says when Xabi feels his hard length pressed against his own. He kisses Xabi again but it’s open-mouthed and messy. Xabi doesn’t know what to do with hands - he wants to touch and taste and kiss all at once - he runs them over Stevie hurriedly, the heated flesh beneath his shirt.
Stevie pushes Xabi further into the wall, moulds their bodies even closer together and Xabi cries out at the feeling - not caring that anyone could be outside the door, anyone could be listening. Xabi moves a thigh between Stevie’s and grinds slowly, gripping at his hips and gasping at the electricity of the friction. He wants to live and breathe in this moment always and for a second he feels the sting of sadness when he realises that it will end. But then his mind goes blank when Stevie begins rutting frantically against his leg - cocks sliding against each other - and now Xabi can barely breathe, the heat in the room is stifling. He’s mindless with want and Stevie is lapping at his neck - dragging his tongue along the length of it, hands barely grazing the side of his body. “Please,” Xabi whispers into Stevie’s mouth and he can taste his words on the other man’s tongue. Stevie slams Xabi’s body against the wall once more and drags his body against him slowly. He comes with a guttural groan, hips pumping uncontrollably, scrambling for purchase at Stevie’s shoulders while trying to get as close to him as possible. Stevie is just behind him - eyes so dark they’re nearly black - he buries his face in Xabi’s neck and bites at the skin there to stifle the sounds of his orgasm as it washes over him in wave after powerful wave.
Xabi draws in a ragged breath and then shivers when he feels Stevie chuckle against him. He doesn’t do things like this. He doesn’t come after winning football matches, in dingy storage rooms. He bites his lip at the sticky feeling between his legs. Stevie pulls away and eyes his crotch appreciatively. “Don’t worry; we’ll get to change and shower soon.”
“Do you do this often?” Xabi can’t stop the question and wishes he’d kept his mouth shut as soon as he hears it leave his lips.
Stevie raises an eyebrow. “Not really, no” he says slowly
Xabi looks away, embarrassed - though it’s difficult to see why as he’s already standing in front of his captain with come in his shorts. “It’s just that you said before that these things happen so I wondered that maybe…” he leaves the sentence hanging in midair
“You wondered if maybe these things had happened with me? Before?” Stevie smiles at him gently and reaches for his hand. “This is good ok? Let’s not make it difficult.” He kisses him chastely.
Xabi struggles not to frown. How is this not already difficult? How does this make any sense? There are millions of questions bubbling to the surface but with Stevie smiling at him like that he can only bother to shelve them away for later.
“You think too much,” Stevie says and Xabi wants to suggest that he doesn’t think enough but the storage room door is already being pushed open - the intrusive sunlight like a reminder that what they did should not have happened.
“Ready to go out?” Stevie asks but he doesn’t look back to hear Xabi’s response
Xabi sighs and worries about the smell of sex that lingers in the air between them, worries of how he will stop himself from touching Stevie when they’re just a few feet apart. “Lead the way.”
**
They fuck during away games when Rafa makes them room together. He’s started up a rota policy to allow more integration so you never get to pick whom you share with and you never get the same person twice in a row. It’s annoying because Xabi thinks if he were addicted to a drug it would feel something like this. He wants more and more and he wants it all the time. He thinks about it at night in bed and on the training ground and in the showers after a match. It doesn’t mean anything, he knows. Stevie reminds him often enough that what they share is purely physical - like a release. But sometimes when Stevie’s inside him, there’s a pain so acute somewhere near his heart and Xabi swears, he’s so sure, that this is about more than the simple slide of skin against skin.
They make love after Benfica knock them out of the Champions League - or at least that’s what it feels like. Stevie moves over Xabi like water - surrounding and caressing him with such tenderness that builds and builds the pressure in his chest - sure he’ll burst from how complete he feels when they are like this. Stevie presses kisses to the bones of Xabi’s cheek, pushes away the hair that falls into his eyes and smiles. It’s so wonderful Xabi thinks he might do something stupid like cry so he reaches for Stevie and kisses him hard and hopes he can feel in this one kiss all the things that they will never ever say to each other.
“Next year,” Stevie tells him afterwards when they’re lying spent
And Xabi nods resolutely, pressing his lips to Stevie’s chest. “Next year,” he agrees.
**
It’s the second Merseyside derby of the season and Xabi watches warily as Stevie gets sent off. Xabi has learnt that Stevie is all misplaced passion and no head at times like this. He ignites before kick off and then flies into tackles, elbows Evertonians and stupidly kicks the ball away like doing so will prove a point. There’s more than two thirds of the game left to play and Stevie is trudging off the pitch - he looks like he’s struggling not to kick at something.
They win it anyway.
When they go back to the dressing room Stevie is waiting for them with an apology and a ‘congratulations’ - (he’d been suspiciously absent during half time). Stevie’s smiling while the others get dressed but Xabi can tell that it’s forced, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes which are more distant than usual. He drags Stevie into an empty stall away from the rest of the team - now in full flow with a rendition of Liverpool are magic. Everton are tragic - and closes the door behind them.
“It’s just a red card. I mean, they happen isn’t it. We still won no?” he’s so earnest to get Stevie smiling
Stevie moves away slightly and puts obvious distance between the two of them, dragging his hands over his face. “The point is. I’m a fucking reckless idiot.”
Xabi rolls his eyes and Stevie shifts impulsively, kisses him hard and fast. The breath goes ‘whoosh’ out of him and the only thing he can taste is Stevie who bites at his lower lip, drawing blood. All Xabi does is moan in response - pliant beneath Stevie’s savaging mouth.
“That,” Stevie says while breathing harshly, “is me. You were brilliant out there. The entire time, I couldn’t stop watching you. The way you were so calm and so- so sure. It’s why we won today.”
Xabi smiles sheepishly and leans into kiss Stevie gently. “Maybe, but also sometimes it’s important to be like you too. Someone needs to make the crazy runs, to, you know, lunge for the ball.” Xabi ghosts his lips against Stevie’s - they’re still just inches apart. “I like watching you too, you know.”
“God, Xabi” Stevie whispers almost desperately and presses their foreheads together
“But no more red cards,” Xabi states firmly and there’s a fluttering in his chest when Stevie laughs in response.
**
Xabi’s leg is going to give way. He can feel it as though there is a disc that is slowly slipping from his knee and the pain has his passing all off. He’s under-hitting and mis-hitting and he’s so frustrated he can almost taste the tears welling at the back of his eyes. He waves his arms in the air - a signal of defeat and he tries not to meet anyone’s gaze, especially not Stevie’s, as he limps off the pitch.
He bites the inside of his cheek hard and Rafa pats him on the back. “It’s ok,” he tells him but Xabi knows that it’s not. He knows that they’re losing and now all he can do is sit on the bench and watch.
Xabi’s overcome the bitter wave of disappointment that comes with a loss and is already on the way to resignation when Stevie scores after the 90th minute. The entire bench is up on it’s feet in shock. Xabi feels weirdly calm instead - like he’d known this would happen; he expected it even.
After they penalties have been won and they’ve been presented with the cup and their medals (What is this shit? Djib had remarked in confusion), Xabi sits next to Stevie in a corner of the dressing room - a significantly large-sized bottle of champagne lies open between them.
“I think now, I think I am tired,” Xabi babbles
“You’re telling me. I can barely feel my legs.” Stevie stretches them out in front of him and Xabi places a hand on his thigh. “We’ve still got a World Cup to play, don’t forget.”
Xabi has been putting off thinking of Stevie in a different country. He misses Spain. He always misses Spain. But now he thinks he’ll miss Stevie more. “What if we have to play against each other?”
Stevie shrugs nonchalantly, “Then England will win.”
Xabi elbows him in the ribs but he’s grinning. “Very sure of yourself, I see.”
“Oh only the best from us lions,” Stevie proclaims with faked authority and Xabi sniggers before sipping at the champagne. “This is good, this.”
“What?”
“You and me,” Stevie says easily but without looking at Xabi
Xabi ponders Stevie’s words and thinks about whether they make him happy. Well, he’s happy knowing that Stevie is at least. “It was unexpected.”
Stevie lets out a laugh like a bark, “Yeah.” He turns to Xabi and grins. It’s mischievous and makes him look like a little boy with mussed hair and wine-stained lips. Xabi kisses him then - a gentle bump of lips and then he’s laughing into Stevie’s mouth and everything is here and it has all come down to this tiny, infallible piece of time. And he laughs harder as Stevie kisses him again because he knows: it’s just the beginning